Haircut
by clair beaubien
Summary: Sam's first haircut after losing Jess. Like everything else, he needs his big brother to get him through it.


"Ready?" Dean asked. He was at the door with his keys in his hand. I was at the table with a book in mine.

"Ready for what?"

"To get your hair cut. Remember? I asked you this morning if you wanted to go with and you said '_sure'_?"

Dean got his hair cut every two or three weeks. It grew that fast, but I think he also liked the chance to talk with the barber, about cars or sports or _'hey, is it true that abandoned gas station on Rt. 62 is haunted_?' I hadn't gotten a haircut since - since before my last midterms at Stanford, when Jess and I went to her parents' house for their anniversary.

"No, I don't remember." I remembered Dean talking to me after breakfast, and maybe _haircut_ was in there, but I didn't remember anything about me going with.

Dean looked briefly annoyed, like maybe I was purposely trying to piss him off, then it smoothed out into that look he got whenever I woke him up in the middle of the night with my nightmares, deep worry poorly hidden behind studied casualness.

"You are getting a little shaggy there, Sammy. A trim wouldn't hurt."

I ran a hand through my hair. It was getting shaggy, sure, but I'd never been that particular about it. Not even when I was with Jess. Not nearly as particular as Dean was about his hair. I could probably go another couple of weeks before it grew long enough to even start to bother me.

"_And if you're a good boy for the nice barber_ -." Dean switched to the wheedling tone I remembered from childhood. " - _you can have a sucker when it's all over_."

So, I gave. Dean obviously wanted me to go with, either because he thought I needed the haircut or because he just wanted me to go with. Either reason worked for me. I followed him to the car and we drove to the barber.

It was an old fashioned barber shop, genuine barber chair, long mirrors, razor strops, bay rum, it even did have a bowl of suckers next to the register. No surprise though, Dean's '_barber'_ was female and young, with long legs and short shorts, and a tank top filled to capacity and beyond. He took a seat in her chair and I took a seat near the door and picked up a magazine to not have to be a spectator to his exercises in seduction.

I flipped through the magazine, not really reading anything, just scanning. Some sort of style or fashion or '_we know a three-quarters naked woman will make you want to buy this wallet!'_ magazine. I kept turning pages and got suddenly hit with the unmistakable scent of Jessica. I looked up and around, wondering if - and really hoping that - she would be there in that tiny store front stylist shop. But there was nothing.

Then I realized that one of the ads in the magazine was for Jess's favorite perfume, one of those _'scratch and sniff'_ ads they fold over the edge of a page. I hadn't scratched it but the smell of it overwhelmed me anyway. I didn't want to react to it but my hands were shaking as I set the magazine down and picked up another one. I only stared at the back cover of that one and didn't open it though; I didn't want to risk any more perfume.

"Your turn sweetie." I heard, and when I looked up from that back cover, Dean was out of the chair and the _barber_ was smiling at me and waving me over.

She was pretty, and sweet-looking, and did a good job, judging from Dean's haircut, and maybe some other time I would've appreciated being in close contact with all that energetic beauty. But all I could think at that moment was _Jess_. All I could see was_ Jess_. _All I wanted was Jess_.

"No. I - uh - thanks - no. We can just go. Dean." And in case he didn't get my distress, I added: "_Please_."

It only took a second for him to agree, nodding once. The concern he flooded me with turned to charm as easily as he turned to the girl.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like we're all set."

"Well, you could always come back for my _spa_ _treatment_…" She cooed at him and coquettishly turned her body in three different directions all at the same time and handed him a card that no doubt had her _very_ _private_ number already written on it.

"And I would love to take you up on that…" Dean said. "But - we got places to go, people to see. I _will_ keep this handy though…" He tucked the card into his shirt pocket and paid her, then he turned back to me and the concern flooded me again. "Ready?"

I was out of the chair and through the door in three seconds flat. Dean followed out a little slower.

"Y'all right?" He asked when we were halfway back to the motel.

"Yeah." I wasn't bleeding or choking or physically broken, therefore I was all right.

"So you bailed on the haircut because - ?"

I didn't want to say. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was emotional survival, but I didn't want to say, I didn't want to talk. Right then, I wanted to be alone with my memories; I wanted to be alone with Jess.

So I didn't answer and a few minutes passed. I could tell Dean was getting ready to say something, something else, the way he checked his mirrors more than he needed to and glanced my way a few times.

"_Was it Jess?"_

He asked it so lightly, so _gently_, I wanted to answer, but I had to swallow a couple of times before I could.

"Her perfume. It was in one of those magazines and I could smell it. And I couldn't smell it and let another woman touch me."

And another minute later, "_Hmmm_…" was the answer I got from Dean.

It was too early for lunch and too late for me to keep pretending I was OK. We went back to the motel and I went back to the table and my book. I wasn't sure where Dean was, bathroom maybe. Had to be since he had come into the room behind me, but he wasn't where I was.

Then, "_Here we go_," and a towel got dropped onto my shoulders.

"Here we go what?"

"Haircut."

"_What_?"

Dean walked where I could see him, brandishing our ancient pair of actual haircutting scissors.

"Hair? Haircut? I used to cut your hair all the time."

"Which explains my dating history." I answered, more out of habit than humor. When Dean cocked an eyebrow and glared at me though, it didn't even hurt to rag him, "My first date with Jess wasn't until six months after the _last_ haircut you gave me."

He kept the glare, but I saw it fizzle into a smile as he walked back behind me. He tucked the towel into my shirt collar and spread it over my shoulders and draped it over the back of the chair and got started.

All my life, mostly, Dean cut my hair, and Dad sometimes did too. I didn't like barbers. Dad and Dean never seemed to have a problem but I didn't like them. I didn't like that I was supposed to make conversation with them, I didn't like that I was supposed to tell them I liked my haircut when I didn't care either way, I didn't like people I didn't know touching me.

Dean sifted his fingers through my hair, holding sections out and trimming them as good as any professional, he'd had so much practice all our lives. I closed my eyes and just let myself feel him touching me, caring for me, just as automatically and naturally as he ever had in our lives. I never realized how much I'd missed that.

"So, who cut your hair after me?" He asked.

"A guy in my first dorm." I answered without opening my eyes. "He wasn't that great but he didn't charge much." And he never made small talk or asked what I thought of how he cut my hair. No fuss, no muss.

"So – was Jess a 'run her fingers through your hair' kind of girl?" Dean asked that gently too, not making conversation or fishing for explicit details. Just letting me know it was okay if I wanted to talk about her.

"She liked to reach up and push my bangs away from my eyes."

He breathed out a soft laugh, but I knew he was smiling and that it was engendered by fondness and not mirth.

For awhile there was only the feel of his hands through my hair and the sound of the scissors doing their work. Then, "_All done_," and he pulled the towel away from me.

"Thanks." I ran my hand through my hair, he'd just trimmed it and it felt okay, not so short I wouldn't recognize myself.

"Sure." He rolled up the towel to keep all the hair in and tossed it into the bathroom. When he came back out, he offered a lock of my hair to me. It was a couple inches long and he'd tied it up with dental floss.

"Here."

"What's that for?"

"It's from your bangs." He said. "_Keep it for Jess_."

As I took it from him, I saw that my hands were shaking again. He was right. I didn't have a lock of Jess's hair to keep, but I could keep a lock of my hair that she had touched. I could still have that much.

I tried to say 'thank you' without choking up but before I barely got started, Dean was handing me something else.

"And because you sat still during your haircut and didn't annoy the nice barber, I got you this."

He held out a big purple sucker. He must've snagged it from the bowl on the way out of the barber shop.

"_Thank you Dean."_ That I could say to him with mock sarcasm and not worry about breaking down. He grinned and pulled another sucker out of his pocket for himself and I tucked that lock of hair in my wallet right next to my picture of Jess.

The End.


End file.
